


Goofy and Silly

by boygenius



Series: Love's Stupid [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Grayson (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Dick Grayson can't swallow to save his life, I'm sorry blowjobs, Jason Todd is Holden Caulfield, Jason thinks deeply during sex, M/M, Spyral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-03 22:30:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10976676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boygenius/pseuds/boygenius
Summary: It wasn’t the most romantic thing to be considering, a funeral. Especially when you’re doing a guy, and especially especially when the guy you’re doing is the same guy whose funeral you’re considering. All macabre and stuff.After Dick comes out about not really being dead and all that, he and Jason try and get together whenever they can.





	Goofy and Silly

**Author's Note:**

> This is for AJ! He's got pretty good tastes, all in all.

Dick Grayson may as well have been the sun. He was just one of those kinds of guys, the kind that dragged everyone into his orbit with his warmth and genuity, and nearly everyone had a pretty good opinion of him. This might have given him some subconscious vanity, a hop in his step attributed somewhat to a small part of him being aware of his gravity. The way he smiled revealed a confidence earned only by those who spent their adolescence jumping off of buildings.

Jason sometimes wondered if, in his last moments, he was as confident.

Certainly wasn’t so warm no more, and the only gravity his fake corpse possessed was one that attracted pity and mourning. Oh, and lots of crying. Everybody cried over Dick Grayson, in life and in fake-death. Falling all over themselves and making a big old fool of themselves. So it goes.

It wasn’t the most romantic thing to be considering, a funeral. Especially when you’re doing a guy, and especially especially when the guy you’re doing is the same guy whose funeral you’re considering. All macabre and stuff. Not that Jason would consider himself romantic by any stretch of the imagination, not when it came to Dick or anybody else for that matter. Any half decent therapist might suggest Jason’s relationship meter was a little skewed due to the adult figures in his childhood - not that Jason gave half a shit about therapists, decent or otherwise.

“Je _ sus _ Christ, Grayson,” he exhaled, a stream of smoke joining his words and mingling with the air. “I think you actually got  _ better _ at giving head. I mean, before you were pretty good. Like, a pretty good prostitute, y’know? One of those more or less well off ones, the ones that make it into a career or something. But now you’ve graduated to one of those prostitutes that only go to rich old guys and pretend to be en _ thralled _ by their old cocks and their arthritis. Y’know? ‘Specially considering you’ve had all that practice enjoying geezer dick. Right?”

Course, that was a rhetorical question. Jason hadn’t expected someone to shoot the shit with him mid-fellatio in a good while, even though the last time was probably with Dick (chatty sonofabitch, normally). He did notice Dick’s shoulders tighten, like someone had turned a knob on the bow of his back and strung him up a little tighter. Jason supposed he was the knob turner in this scenario.

They were in some crumby old motel rooms, one of those where the receptionist can’t be bothered to look up from her  _ National Inquirer  _ even if Christ himself was checking in. Since Dick was a goddamn spy or whatever, they had to keep meeting in the most low-down, no-name spots if they wanted to see each other. These meetings were few and far between, but Jason always found himself screwing them up with his no-good temper every time. Sometimes they spent the night in a bothersome cycle of fucking and fighting, getting suddenly infuriated and just as suddenly aroused by the crackle of electricity between them. Just like sticking your finger in a light socket, you felt giddy with relief you hadn’t singed off your eyebrows and ill with the residuals of lightning in your belly.

They were doing pretty good that night. Dick’s pretty mouth was stretched around his cock and his eyes were squeezed shut in that cute, virginesque way that Jason liked seeing, and every time he rolled his hips Dick made a little noise in the back of his throat. It was just _good_ , and it wasn’t _just_ good.  It burned off the ends of his nerves and left him feeling raw to every sensation, from the non-urgent breeze that drifted warm from the lazy ceiling fan to the unclassy way Dick pressed and curled his tongue around his cock, the drone of the TV next door and the short whine at the end of each of Dick’s breaths.  Experimentally, he fucked even harder into his mouth until he felt Dick choking, his throat fluttering around his cock and his big eyes getting shiny and watery.

“I remember back in the day, before some of us were pretending to be dead and all,” Dick stiffened and his eyes flew open in this way that made Jason certain he would have apologized if he could. Jason snapped his hips forward again. “Pretty sure I fucked you so hard you cried, you said your eyes were just watering. Whatever.”

Jason took another drag and pulled Dick off by his hair, admiring the way his tongue poked out just over his bottom lip as he tried to catch his breath. Dick's hands were scarred up, and Jason could feel each tiny valley criss crossing the fingers that crept up his hips. Jason had his own scars, a whole chunk of his hair grew in white for no decent reason, and when they had cut  _ his  _ corpse up it wasn't no dummy - he had a long, straight scar that spanned the length of his chest like a pale highway. It musta delighted Dick, he couldn't keep his goddamn hands off of it. Actually, Jason knew he probably pitied him but he didn't want to think about that (and god if that wasn’t hard, with all of Dick’s bitter smiles and disgusting gestures, the way he’d shake his head and tuck Jason’s hair behind his ear in such a forgiving way, even if Jason had done something despicable).

“I love you,” Dick mumbled into Jason's skin, his hot forehead resting against Jason's hip. That funny shirt was gone, the weird skin tight uniform that Jason might have found sexy as hell if only he could keep himself from dwelling on the fact that he never got to see Dick in it. Moreover, other people saw Dick in that damned shirt and they saw him even more than he did.

Jason always tore it off of him, if he could.

“I bet you do.” The expanse of Dick's back was like a stretch of desert, sun kissed and scarred and it gave way to the curve of his neck and the dark waves of his hair. Dick was looking up at him. Jason rolled his eyes and blew smoke out his nose, sparing a couple moments to bend down and kiss Dick on his slick, pretty lips. Dick's fingers traveled up, up, up, to the crux of Jason's scar that lived just under his collarbones and his body jolted with a shiver that curled in the pit of his gut and built a home there.

At the end of the day, that scar was stupid proof he’d been a corpse at one point. He'd died, laid naked on an operating table, and been sliced open by a doctor that was likely halfway to being a necrophiliac. It made him feel weird and vulnerable, like it was a seam that could be easily ripped open again. Once, he'd watched a documentary about Hollywood where they explained there were special shirts with seams that could be ripped off easily by the actors. Yeah, he thought, that's exactly what it is.  _ I've got the real deal, baby. _

It kind of pissed him off that even on his knees, Dick Grayson could still claw his way up atop a pedestal by just  _ touching _ him. His hands were confident and gentle, maybe it was the possibility that Dick could just dig his nails in and pop the seam open like it was nothing. And he did, not in reality or nothing that'd be gross. But  _ figuratively _ , he tore Jason up. Goddammit. He hated his perfect guts.

“You even hard?” His cigarette was between his fingers, his hand resting on Dick's shoulder. Dick batted his fucking eyelashes,  _ for God's sake _ , and took his sweet time unbuttoning his trousers (green, which was a little weird in Jason's opinion, and hid more firearms than someone as goody two shoes and repressed as Dick should be allowed).

“Yeah,” he said, finally. His voice was starting to sound a bit rough, a little pitchy. Jason wanted to send him back to Spyral with his throat so sore he had to speak via charades, as if maybe a little public humiliation would redeem him for all the lying and death faking. God knows Dick was desperate for redemption, and he’d do anything to get it. Of course Jason  _ knew _ mildly irate sexual encounters weren’t the way to go, but that didn’t mean it didn’t make him feel a little better for a neat little handful of moments before Dick had to fix his hair and leave again. Thus, he had to make the best of their time, no matter how antagonistic it wound up being.

“Open your mouth, I'm gonna fuck it until jizz comes out your nose,” he said, making the best of it. Nicholas Sparks who?

Jason stubbed his cigarette out in the greenish glass ashtray on the nightstand he was leaning up against. It was shaped like a dragon curled around a little bowl, and although Jason thought it was corny and unoriginal he chewed on the idea of stealing it the next morning to replace the tray he'd broken against the wall the last time Dick had come over.

Dick hated it when he smoked, but he hadn’t mentioned it once since he came back.

Jason came back to Earth when Dick’s lips skimmed the space below his navel, his hands coming up to cover Jason’s on the edge of the nightstand. When Jason twitched and pulled his hands away, Dick looked positively  _ tortured _ , with this kicked puppy look Jason knew had gotten Dick anything he wanted in the past. Not even the goddamn Batman himself could resist (and Jason was absolutely positively certain that Dick used his powers for evil).

And neither could he.

“Open your mouth, Grayson,” he sighed, moving Dick's hand to his hip and lacing their fingers. Again, Dick actually batted his eyes and smiled at him in such a way that would just rot all your teeth out of your damn skull, like he was about to recite the Boy Scouts code of honor and sell you some fucking cookies instead of getting his face fucked by another guy in a shady ass motel room.

His mouth was hot and wet and Jason was still pretty mad about everything, about Dick’s stupid fake death and his stupid fake funeral and his stupid James Bond bullshit.  That is to say, he had no reason for formalities. Jason thought about Dick, he thought about Dick gasping how much he loved him with one of them pinned to the bed, his old Nightwing suit, oversexed lycra and spandex stretching over every place on his body Jason wanted to touch him. Fuck. He twisted his fingers up in Dick's hair (which was short now, too short, shorter than he remembered and shorter than whatever was lying in his coffin), and slammed his cock down his throat and vaguely hoped Dick's mouth would bruise. It was pretty hot, pretty wet, and Jason wished Dick would be a little louder so he couldn’t hear himself moaning.

And Dick came for that, shock waxing and waning over his face for a split second, all squirmy with his eyes fluttering and his fingers gripping Jason's hips so hard his nails left red little crescent moons in their wake. Jason fucked his slack mouth through it, and when he came he pulled back some because if Dick tried to swallow he would end up choking half to death, and although Jason found the thought wordlessly hilarious he knew it was best for everyone if Dick spit like any other hooker. Come spilled out over his bottom lip, dripping lazily off his chin and to the cheap carpet, mild surprise churning in his expression. 

Jason reached down and rubbed at the mess on his face with his thumb, smearing it over his lips before Dick batted his hand away and rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. Jason grabbed his chin again and this time Dick sucked his fingers and shuddered, actually fucking shuddered. What a queen.

He was pretty tired by then, all that vigilanting and banging and all, and allowed Dick to rise to his feet and slowly strip him of his clothes. Jason had about five inches and ninety pounds on Dick, and when he leaned his bulk against him he earned a breathy little laugh as Dick eased Jason's jeans off his thighs.

“You’re too big for that, Little Wing,” he chided, pushing first those prissy green pants off his hips and then Jason onto the bed, which voiced its disapproval through creaks and off-key groans. Deaf to its complaints, Dick climbed on top of him and pressed him into the bed with nothin’ but sheer willpower and - and fucking  _ optimism _ . He regarded Jason for a while, and because Jason loathed to be  _ regarded _ he gave him this hot, irritated look.

Course, that just made Dick laugh and grab his face and kiss him. Bastard. Jason thought about telling him off while he put his arms around his waist and brushed his lips over the corner of Dick’s mouth, still all flushed and fucked up. His hand was big all splayed out in the small of Dick’s back, a really half assed deterrent against the inevitable. One of Dick’s hands was curled around his face, the other around the back of his neck, his fingers smoothing through Jason’s wild hair. It took a whole two and a half minutes of slow making out, pressing his body up against Dick’s and counting his heart beats and all that, before Dick broke rank and combed all of Jason’s hair out of his face. He traced a little arc where the white bit sprouted out of his head, smiling like the vague, dreamy idiot that he was. 

“Goofy motherfucker,” Jason growled, too heavy with almost-sleep to come up with a real stinger. Dick laughed at that too, but Jason decided his happy ass could do whatever the hell he wanted.

One way or the other, they dozed off like that. Dick’s head was on his chest, oil slick hair spilled out over his clavicle, Jason’s arms thrown all around him. Dick’s hand was curled all tight at his scar and Jason’s arms were thrown all around him. Funny, you’d think it’d be pretty hard for a guy to sleep through someone untangling himself from such a hold. And you’d be wrong. Jason thought so too, but wasn’t surprised when he woke up to a cold bed and empty arms. Course, Dick had left a gay little note on the nightstand with a heart and an apology.

Jason threw it away and lit a cigarette. So it goes.

**Author's Note:**

> The original title for this work was "Goofy Motherfucker"  
> Might make a sequel or a series out of this, it's the sort of idea you could do pretty easily. If you'd like, send in some requests for possible future meetings.


End file.
